Goodnight, Sweet Prince
by xAllThatIsGoldx
Summary: Aragorn finds Legolas in a moment of weakness, resulting in dreams come true- or not. Aragorn/Legolas slash, no one's forcing you to read it. Oneshot


Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, settings, or anything else you may recognize. No money is being made from this story.

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, looked absolutely, perfectly, flawlessly beautiful in the dappled golden light that shone through the thick cover of trees that was characteristic of his ancestral home and someday-kingdom.

His beauty was currently on display in that most favorable light, as he was lying curled up in one of his favorite places in the world: he was among the roots of a huge, ancient oak tree, roots that, in some places, were above his head when he stood. He lay in the juncture of several of these roots, so that a nest of sorts was created. His body was curled up, his knees were pressed to his chest, and he was sobbing.

The whole picture was at once beautiful and horrible, for anyone who saw such a lovely being, gorgeous beyond compare, wracked with such crushing sobs that it was a wonder his slender body wasn't broken in two, could not help but despair as well, for if one so seemingly perfect was in such a state, what hope could there be for the rest of us?

Legolas, for his part, had never in his life felt any less beautiful than he did right then. The only thing that could possibly make him any more miserable than he already was, was if-

"LEGOLAS!"

The blonde elf froze, then he groaned, almost inaudibly. He knew that voice- oh, how he knew that voice- and it was full of concern, and more than just a bit of panic. Normally, any words that came out of that mouth, no matter their tone, were precious to Legolas, a treasure valued above all else, above his own life. But not today.

"Go away," he whispered, his voice cracked and dry and broken, from his sobs and from the emotion behind them.

"-Aragorn," and this, his name, the name Legolas had so many times whispered to himself, forced out through his sobs, or screamed to the black, unforgiving night, the most beautiful name in all existence, this came out a bit louder, a bit more clearly, though Legolas had not intended it to be so.

The heavy footsteps Legolas had heard stopped, and the elven prince could picture the man, a natural born tracker, prick up his ears at the small noise, inaudible to all ears but his and those of the elves who raised him, and slowly turn in Legolas' direction. The elf knew he had made a fatal error, but he kept as still and as quiet as he was able, hoping the man would lose his trail if he gave nothing more away.

However, it was in vain, for soon he heard the footsteps, slower now, more careful, approaching his hiding place from the other side of the wide oak.

"...Legolas?" the ranger said again, quieter now, but his voice was even more full of concern for his friend than before, and more of the panic was present as well, though he was trying hard to hide it, for Legolas' sake.

The beautiful elf saw no point in delaying the inevitable.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice trembling with tears.

"Legolas, melon-nin, what is wrong? You can tell me anything, meldomelin, you know that."

The elf simply stared at his friend, biting his bottom lip and shaking his head minutely from side to side.

Seeing this, Aragorn grew even more distressed and knelt on the ground in front of the elven prince, taking smooth and delicate hands, with long fingers, in one of his larger, calloused ones. At Aragorn's touch Legolas gasped, and his entire body began to tremble.

Aragorn saw this and, getting the wrong impression, said softly "It is me, then? Please, my friend, tell me what I have done and I swear to you, I will make it right. Anything, Legolas, anything you ask of me I will do, just tell me-" but the ranger was cut off as the elf stood up abruptly, jerking his hands out of the gentle grip of the son of Arathorn.

"It is NOT you. Don't you ever think that, Aragorn, don't ever think that anything you do could hurt me."

This was said while Legolas looked out at the trees, focusing intently on something deep within the forest, for he could not bear to face his friend after that. The guilt was overwhelming. Somehow, Aragorn had come to believe- no, the elf had led him to believe- that he was responsible for the darkness in Legolas' own soul, when in reality nothing could be farther from the truth.

Aragorn was swiftly becoming the only source of light for the fair prince, but somehow, Legolas had managed to cause even that light to become tainted, by harboring feelings toward Aragorn that he knew would serve only to destroy their relationship, if Legolas ever allowed them to be revealed.

"Then what?" Legolas jumped about a foot in the air, somehow Aragorn had come to stand right behind him. As he asked the question, his warm breath found its way to the back of Legolas' neck, causing all his nerve endings to catch fire and his eyes to close, as rational thought left him.

"Legolas?" The sound of his name snapped the elf back to reality. He opened his eyes, seeing beautiful, warm gray ones staring back at him. He opened his mouth to answer when suddenly it hit him how very _close _Aragorn was, his face mere centimeters from Legolas' own. And those eyes, filled, as they always were, with kindness, liquid gray pools he never wanted to look away from. He suddenly remembered that his friend was still waiting for an answer.

"Yes?" he croaked with some difficulty.

"I love you."

The effect those three words had on the elf was profound. He stopped breathing, his eyes went wide, and he swayed a little where he stood. Sapphire blue eyes filled once again with tears as they searched Aragorn's face disbelievingly, for never had their owner known this man, the epitome of all that was brave and strong and good, to play such a cruel joke as the one he played now. The man's steady gray eyes looked back, filled with an emotion Legolas did not dare name, but it wasn't humor.

Slowly the ranger moved even closer. Legolas' breath had returned to him now, it was coming in short, rapid gasps that gave away his rising panic, panic because if he allowed himself to hope, for something he had secretly yearned for all these years, a yearning that had consumed his entire body, mind, heart, and soul, and he was disappointed, it would kill him. And his death would be slow, and agonizing.

Yet he could not bring himself to stop the man, whose lips were moving slowly closer to his own. Any resistance he had been able to muster had fled the moment Aragorn's arms had found their way around his narrow waist, his hold firm, but unbelievably gentle. At that moment his body lost its capacity to do anything but stay upright, and even that with difficulty, and his brain lost the ability to do anything but focus on that face, _his _face. High cheekbones, covered with dark stubble all the way to his chin. Kind eyes, though a bit tired, with lines at the corners that resulted from both his easy laugh and smile, and the incredible amount of stress he'd had to deal with in his life, which compared to Legolas' was short indeed. Legolas loved his lines and wrinkles, because they were a part of him, part of what made him who he was. And those lips, they were soft and perfect and wonderful and Legolas could not count the times he had longed for those lips to-

Aragorn leaned down (for he was just a bit taller than the elf) and brushed soft lips with his, letting his mouth linger there on Legolas' until he felt the prince's lips relax under him. Then he pulled his beautiful elf closer, and moved one of the hands from around the elf's waist to the back of his head, letting his fingers tangle in flaxen hair. His lover moaned softly. He deepened the kiss, slowly, gently, wanting to let Legolas know he wouldn't ever hurt him.

Legolas, however, had other ideas. As soon as Aragorn made to deepen the kiss, the elf parted his lips, and let his tongue slip out to duel with the man's. He kissed Aragorn ferociously, relentlessly, yet somehow also reverently, as though this was his one chance, and he would rather die than do it wrong. Aragorn seemed to take the hint, because he then seized the opportunity to take Legolas' full lower lip between his teeth and bit down, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to cause his lover's hands to fist in his shirt, and to cause a moan of pleasure to escape elven lips. Aragorn ran his tongue over the spot to soothe any pain Legolas felt, though all the action succeeded in doing was to cause Legolas to become even more lightheaded than he already was, for the elf was much too far gone to feel any pain, or indeed to feel anything at all but the incredible pleasure of the ranger's touch, full of heat and desire and, possibly...

Love.

For the first time, Legolas let himself hope.

The elf's vision began to grow fuzzy from lack of air, but there was no way in hell he would let something as trivial as the need to breathe interrupt this most beautiful of moments, the happiest he could remember being in his life. It was only when his knees buckled and Aragorn became the only thing holding him up that the ranger broke the kiss.

Somehow, Aragorn lowered them both to the ground so that he lay on his back on the soft leaves, Legolas, gasping for air, lay across his chest, head resting on the man's shoulder.

"Are you alright, A'maelamin?" Aragorn's voice was once again laced with concern for his love.

Legolas was still trying hard to get air into his lungs, but he managed to reply between breaths "I am.. so... much more... than alright, meleth." and with that he smiled up at the one he loved.

With a soft chuckle, Aragorn said "I could say the same. Where on earth did you learn to kiss like that, my Prince? It seems you are not nearly as angelic as you look."

In reply, Legolas gave his most angelic smile, causing Aragorn's heart to skip several beats.

"Im mela lle, Aragorn." Legolas whispered into the ranger's ear, not helping at all with the issue of the man's heartbeat.

"And I, you, Legolas, more than I can say," Aragorn whispered back, and with that he flipped over so that Legolas was now under him, and he on all fours, bracing himself with his hands on either side of the elf's head. He bent down and kissed each of the elf's closed eyelids, then his temples, moving down along his jawline to his neck, where he lightly kissed him, right at the pulse point. Legolas was, by the end of it, practically purring, hands once again fists in the man's shirt, while he let gentle, tender kisses melt him, slowly taking away every bone from his body.

"Tell me, Legolas," Aragorn whispered, having kissed his way, slowly and tenderly up to Legolas' pointed ear, one of the most sensitive parts of his body. "Why were you weeping when I found you?"

Legolas was struggling not to moan (at least, not too much) each time Aragorn came into contact with the skin of his ear, whether it be the man's nose, the stubble on his chin or, Valar forbid, his lips, that touched his highly sensitive skin, so understandably this question took a while to process, and even longer to answer, particularly since Aragorn chose that time to take the outer rim of the elf's ear between his teeth, biting down lightly.

Legolas saw stars.

But still, he made a valiant effort to form a semi-coherent answer to his lover's question.

"It- ahh- it d-doesn't... matter," he forced out between teeth that were clenched in an effort to keep from screaming.

"Legolas!" Aragorn said, sounding upset, almost reproachful, though he didn't cease nibbling and sucking and licking at Legolas' ear, causing said elf to writhe beneath him and moan. "Everything that happens to you matters to me."

That phrase, said with such emotion behind it, combined with the fact that Aragorn chose that moment to take the pointed tip of his ear into his mouth and suck as if it were candy, caused Legolas' sapphire eyes to roll back into his head, and his eyelids to close.

When he blinked them open again he noticed several things at once. There was no longer a warm body pressed on top of him, no longer a hot mouth at his ear. He was not lying on soft fallen leaves but in a thin bedroll that offered little protection from the rocky ground beneath him. And the love of his life was nowhere to be found. For a while he lay there in utter confusion, his brain unable, or refusing to process the information it had been given. And then it hit him.

A dream. The best moments of his existence, and they had all been just a dream. He felt the last vestiges of the hope he had so foolishly allowed himself to create be crushed by the unstoppable waves of despair now coursing through him, cold as ice. He gave a single strangled cry, not nearly enough to relieve the utter agony inside him, tearing him apart.

_It's over, _ he thought, feeling strangely detached. _There's no way I can survive this._

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, watched his world crashing down all around him. And nothing was beautiful, nor would anything ever be again.

He inhaled deeply, what he was beginning to think would be his last breath, when the smell of the blankets he was wrapped in hit him. It was a smell he knew very well, yet it was not his own. It smelled of tobacco, and spices, and sunshine. He took a closer look at the bedroll in which he lay. The material was a pale silver blue, the color of Rivendell. This was not his bed. Nor did it belong to Boromir, and the bedrolls of Gimli or the hobbits would be much too short for him to fit in. Which left only...

_How on earth did_ _I manage to wake up in Aragorn's bed?_


End file.
